


Recognition

by knitwrit



Series: The Ley Lines Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Lawyer Hermione Granger, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22531906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knitwrit/pseuds/knitwrit
Summary: This tells the story of how Hermione saves Severus Snapes life, and goes on to introduce many changes that bring democracy the Wizegamot post second War with Voldemort.A one shot that can be read as part of my longer work A Right To be Wrong but that also works as a stand-alone.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: The Ley Lines Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631938
Kudos: 19





	Recognition

**Author's Note:**

> This was cut from my longer work A Right to Be Wrong and instead made as a one-shot that can be read as a stand alone. 
> 
> Parts of it may get re-integrated back into my longer work, but for now I've decided it was cluttering up the pace of A Right to Be Wrong.

Hermione entered into the back chambers of the Wizengamot and found herself greeted by the smiling face of Tiberius Ogden. 

His hair was all white now, as well as his beard, and Hermione thought he was becoming stooped in a way that she rarely saw in wizards. 

Privately, she wondered how much longer Tiberius would be able to continue in his role as the chief Mugwump of the judiciary, proudly independent now since that first year after the war; but Tiberius had been her staunch supporter through all the reforms she had advocated through the years, and had been the author of the new constitution in wizarding Britain. 

It was ironic, but they never would have achieved separation of the judiciary from the politicians if it had not been for the Death Eaters and their terrified families. 

The Purebloods who had supported Voldemort had saw the changes happening in the ministry in those first chaotic months after the war, and knew that they had utterly lost all the political influence and power they had once had with the end of the war. They knew if things went the way they had in the past, with the politicians deciding the fates of their family members, that every single death eater who had ever so much as gave Voldemort a single knut of support would be tried to the death. 

And so, when Hermione and the other reformers had insisted on writing a new consititution in the wake of the war, the pureblood families could all agree that they wanted an independent judiciary, the abolition of the death penalty except for in rare cases, and the right to a trial. It had passed nearly without objection in the House.

Tiberius had been convinced to come out of retirement when he saw the changes that were taking place, and had risen swiftly through the ranks ever since. He had taken Hermione under his wing when he saw she had an interest in law and mentored her since the first day they had proposed for the daring inclusion of a truth and reconciliation commission for all of Voldemort’s supporters who had not actually been marked death eaters, or who had committed murder, torture, or other war crimes. 

Now alternative justice was an integral part of the system, and most petty crimes were paid for in community service or other acts of restitution rather than in jail time. 

Under Tiberius’s guidance she had gained her license to practice law, and now, the right to be called a Doctor of law. 

He smiled, rising from his cluttered desk, and shook her hand. 

“Hermione,” he said fondly, “My dear girl. I’m so proud of all you’ve achieved. I’m so looking forward to our ceremony tomorrow.”

Hermione blinked back tears as she shook his hand, and looked around his office. 

Tiberius kept all the many articles of the changes she had advocated for clipped out of the newspapers, and she found herself surrounded by moving photos of herself shaking the hand of the minister of magic, of sitting fiercely beside clients she had advocated for in front of the Wizengamot, of shaking the hands of House Elves and Squibs and all those whose rights had been trampled for so many years. 

Though the Death Eaters had been eager to support the new constitution, they had signed off on a document whose power continued to shake the foundations of their all powerful hold on both the courts and the politicians. 

She found herself drawn to a photo of herself at her youngest, before she had even achieved her position as a lawyer, sitting fierce and protective next to the hunched over figure of Severus Snape. Snape sat staring down at his hands, his broad shoulders hunched in defeat. Hermione was glaring at the court in front of her with hellfire in her eyes, sweeping her gaze back and forth against all who were watching.

She had nearly forgotten that, and looking at it now, she was amazed that she had. 

“I saw Snape yesterday,” she said musingly. 

“Your first case,” Tiberius said thoughtfully. “If we can call it that, since you weren’t his official representative. And it was pro-bono, of course, since you weren’t a lawyer yet. How was he?”

“Different,” Hermione answered truthfully. “You would hardly think he was the same man.” 

She took the photo down off the wall and thought more about that day. 

Snape had been dragged before the courts a year after the commission was complete. Given his role in the second wizarding wars, and that he was a marked Death Eater, he was considered ineligible for alternative justice measures. Despite Hermione’s and other objections, he had been dragged before the courts to account for his actions. 

Thank God the constitution had already been established that forbade retrial on an old case; otherwise he really might have been sentenced to life in jail for his role in the first wizarding war. 

Snape had been utterly defeated, convinced despite Hermione’s insistence that the Wizengamot had changed, that justice would be found, that given his poverty and his lack of blood status, that he would be found guilty and left to rot in Azkaban. 

He had smelled strongly of alcohol, and answered her questions with single sentence answers, often only single words. 

He was still physically struggling with his recovery from being attacked by Nagini, and walked awkwardly with a cane, his old smooth grace nowhere to be found any longer.

He had been an infuriatingly difficult client to advocate for, but advocate she had. 

She had called witnesses; Harry, and Ron, and even submitted his own Pensieved memories. She had used Harry’s memories from the multiple times Snape had saved his life through school until finally the courts could agree that he was not guilty. 

He hadn’t even thanked her afterwards, but somehow managed to slouch off into the crowds of the trial without being seen. 

It was amazing now to think that she had nearly forgotten that; but those years were so busy! She had been researching and writing about so many different reforms, meeting with so many different people, all who had a piece to play in the grand chance to bring magical Britain kicking and screaming into democracy. 

She posted the article back up on the board and looked at Tiberius. 

He was smiling and holding some papers in his hands. 

“I thought I would include in my presentation the list of all the different publications you have made over the years, my darling girl. And here I found quite the surprise.”

He floated a sheet of paper over to her, and she took it from him in bemusement. 

“The uses of injections in Potions. Author: Severus Snape, Master of Potions. First Researcher, Hermione Granger. Published: 2003.”

Hermione gasped. 

“But I never assisted him in any of his research!” she protested. 

“Did you not, my dear?” Tiberius’s eyes were twinkling. “The footnotes tell me that you were the first to try injecting a potion directly in the veins.”

“But that was a desperate act in a time of war!” Hermione objected. “Can I really be given a credit as a researcher when it was a last ditch attempt to save a life, with little hope of success?”

Tiberius smiled.

“Severus Snape seemed to think so,” he responded. “Believe it or not, Hermione, this is the first time your name appears as a researcher or a writer in academic writing.”

She gawped at him for a moment. The timeline made sense, she supposed; she could hardly be credited as a writer of legislation, when she had only been drafting the ideas of many, and they still had to be approved by multiple others before they ever reached the floors for debate. And most of her work with recommendations about the functioning of the commission, and the briefs she had written were only for the eyes of the politicians, and had not ever actually been published. 

She didn’t start publishing until years later, when she had time to think about all they had achieved, and to write about how they had achieved it, and what she thought needed to happen next. 

“Did he never tell you, then?” Tiberius asked her in surprise. 

“Well…” Hermione’s voice trailed off. “I suppose he did, at that.”

She had been sitting in the living room of her small flat with Ron. They had just recently given birth to Hugo, and by some miracle, both the children were sleeping when an owl came to knock at their window. 

They were collapsed into each other’s arms, the dirty dishes left untouched in the sink, and Ron groaned loudly at the noise. 

But its tapping was persistant. 

“You or me, babe?” he asked her, sinking further into the couch. 

“Oh, Merlin, you,” Hermione sighed, pushing his arm off her shoulder playfully. “I’ve been breastfeeding Ron, breastfeeding. You owe me this one.”

Ron chuckled at stood up. 

“That’s fair enough,” he said amicably, and made his way to the window. “So long as I never have to breastfeed a young fiend in my entire life I will open all the windows for the owls you need me to for the rest of my life.”

“I know who’s getting the sweet end of that deal,” Hermione sighed, but Ron just laughed and ambled back to the couch as a nervous young owl flew into the flat and flapped around for a while before settling on Hermione’s knee. 

There wasn’t much else space for him to land on. 

Hermione took the parchment off the pouch on his leg and look at it in interest. 

“Oh, Ron, look! It’s one of those new spelled parchments that you can send messages to people instaneously, and it will show up on both of your scrolls!”

Ron settled back next to her on the couch as she unrolled it. 

“Who’s it from?” he asked curiously. “Is it Harry?”

Hermione was gaping at the familiar writing on the scroll. 

_Dear Madam Granger. I was hoping you would afford me a moment of your time to write back to me about a matter of some mutual academic interest, at your convenience. Sincerely, Severus Snape._

“It’s Snape!” She said incredulously. 

“Snape?” Ron was leaning over her shoulder. “What does that drunken git want?”

Hermione was fumbling for a quill. 

“No better time than the present to find out,” she said, and set the scroll down on the coffee table in front of her. 

_Dear Professor Snape,_ she wrote, and then chewed on the end of her quill. No, he wasn’t a professor anymore. She scratched it out, and the words disappeared. 

The little owl hooted at her inquisitively. 

“Oh!” Hermione said, looking as the owl shifted from one leg to the other. “I guess we don’t need the owl any more. Can you send him to the window for me, Ron?”

“Whatever my darling needs, don’t worry about my sore feet,” Ron responded sweetly. Hermione snorted and shooed him off, but Ron just laughed and lead the little owl to the window as Hermione debated how to proceed.

_Dear Master Snape. I am curious as to what academic interests we may have in common. What are you referring to? Sincerely, Hermione Granger._

She tapped the parchment with her wand and the message shifted off the page. 

The response came almost immediately. 

_Dear Madam Granger. I am grateful for your prompt response. I am currently researching the uses of injections with potions. It was you who so ingeniously invented this field. I owe you the results of this work in more ways than I can say. I am wondering if you would like to be included in any future patents that may result from these findings, and what percentage of profits you may be interested in taking from any of the injectables I may find.. Sincerely, Severus Snape._

Hermione stared at the words incredulously. Patents? Profits? On an invention she had never even see? For research she wasn’t even marginally involved in? He was talking like he owed her some kind of blood debt, when any decent human being would have done the best they could to keep a man from dying. 

She thought back to that horrible night, the blood pouring from the wounds in Snape’s neck as she gathered his memories into her test tube. She had instructed Harry to staunch the wounds, but there was so much blood; she had gritted her teeth and whispered the spell for mending, hoping it would work on the gaping hole in his neck. 

She was sweating, and Ron was urging her to leave, but she couldn’t leave a man to die in abandoned shack, no matter what his loyalties were, and why, if he knew they were there, hadn’t he betrayed them?

She muttered “ _accio medicinus_ ”, waving her wand at her bag, and gasped when several potions, and a syringe filled with epinephrine landed in her outstretched hand.

She had sworn that she would use the epinephrine if she had to, that she could make herself stab it into Harry or Ron’s chest, and pump electricity in steady waves through their heart if she had to, and then she would get them to medical care, a Muggle hospital if she had to, so help her! She was prepared, dammit, and if it came to that she would still do it…. But now she saw another desperate opportunity had presented itself to her, in the form of a dark green bottle, the antidote to Nagini’s venom. 

She tapped her wand to it, and the epinephrine and the potion switched. She stabbed it into Snape’s neck, gasping as the potion swelled into a bulge at his jugular. 

The bleeding stopped. 

He was still breathing. 

“Now Hermione,” Ron hissed at her, and she covered Snape with her cloak, and called to Winky to bring him to the Great Hall to Poppy…

She blew out, leaving the memory in the past where it belonged. It rankled her sense of justice that Snape would suggest she take profits from something she hadn’t really done anything about for the past five years. 

_Thank you,_ she wrote back hesitantly, _but I really don’t need any credit. What I did for you was an act of desperation, and I’m glad it succeeded, but it was hardly rigorous research. There’s no need to include me in any of the patents for your work._

Ron was squawking at that. 

“Hermione!” he protested, reading over her shoulder as she wrote, “We’re talking big money here! If Snape wants to give you money for saving his life, why not just take it and walk away?”

But Hermione tapped her wand against the parchment already. 

“Because, Ron,” she said simply, “It’s not right, that’s why.”

Ron sat back into the couch and sighed. 

“Ever the sense of justice, eh Hermione?” but his tone was warm.

“Always,” Hermione agreed absently. A response was already shifting onto the paper:

_Are you quite certain? You more than deserve it._

The parchment dinged quietly with each response, but Ron was too exhausted to shift forward to read it. 

“What’s he saying now?” Ron asked. 

“Oh, he’s trying to convince me otherwise,” Hermione answered. 

Ron snorted. 

“Good luck to him,” he muttered. Hermione smiled in recognition of that truth. 

_No, thank you,_ she wrote back more firmly this time. _It really was a miracle that what I did worked at all, but it’s not like I thought much about it before I did it. It could have just as easily hastened your death._

A response dinged again, but Hermione was getting tired of this argument with a paper. 

_Never underestimate yourself, Miss Granger._ The response was immediate. _You did more than what you give yourself credit for. I fear unscrupulous others would take advantage of you if you cannot see your own worth._

“Hmmm!” Hermione snorted. “I’m back to being a Miss again, Ron!”

She glared at the page and lifted it off the desk in front of her. 

Ron peeked an eye open and saw her expression. 

“Guess that conversation was short lived,” he said mildly. 

“That arrogant arse!” Hermione raged as she read it again. “He’s implying I’m naïve and gullible! And he’s trying to convince me to change my mind by insulting me! Remind me, Ron, the many reasons why I never want to speak to this guy again if he ever dares to owl me again!”

She crumpled up the note and threw it in the fire. 

They both jumped as it made a loud crack. 

One of the babies mewled a bit in their sleep, but thank God, went back to quiet, or she really might have to contemplate the merits of murdering Severus Snape. 

Ron was starting to laugh. 

“Mione?”

“Mmmm?”

“What do you think happens on his end when you throw a charmed paper into the fire?”

“Oh, God! Ron! I didn’t think of that!”

They both looked at each other and dissolved into helpless giggles. 

And Hermione hadn’t thought any more of it in the years since. 

Now, in black and white before her, she saw proof that Snape had always recognized her as his inspiration. 

The tone read differently in the years that had passed. 

“Do you mind if I include it as your first foray into academic writing?” Tiberius was asking her. 

Hermione’s first instinct was to object, just as she had all those years ago. But then she thought of the door that Snape had charmed to include Dr. Pomfrey’s name, when no one else in the wizarding world would have thought of the courtesy of insisting she be recognized as an equal. 

Maybe she did deserve more recognition than what she had first thought. 

“All right, Tiberius,” she agreed hesitatingly. “But please ensure that I am credited as a researcher, and not a writer.” 

Tiberius beamed benevolently. 

“Of course, my dear,” he agreed. 

They spent the rest of the morning discussing the details of the upcoming ceremony for the receipt of her doctor of law: the prestigious legum doctorate. 


End file.
